


sail over oceans five fathoms deep

by lucystonersix



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, ot3 only in the most technical sense this is a semi-nonsexual lesbian-centric throuple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucystonersix/pseuds/lucystonersix
Summary: Following Max en route to Philly after 4x06 (with flashbacks to season 2 of course).
Relationships: Anne Bonny & Max & "Calico" Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham/Max, Anne Bonny/Max, Max & "Calico" Jack Rackham
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	sail over oceans five fathoms deep

Time passed differently at sea. Max had never cared for the way the days and nights ran together aboard a ship, midday ebbing into dusk with the steady pulsing of the waves. Granted, she spent as little time on the water as anyone who made their home in a well trafficked port city could hope to spend. But whenever she had found herself seafaring, something deeper than conscious thought had always willed her back to land, where bells rang on the hour as Nassau awoke, spiraled through its mornings, evenings, and sank into nightfall.

Now, of course, there was no longer a reason to wish for the formerly welcome sight of the harbor. There were no hourly bells to long for because there was no Nassau. Max tried not to dwell on it — she knew, painfully knew, that all there was to do was move forward. But how does one cope with the loss of something so great? How does something requiring such immeasurable sacrifice take only a matter of hours to go up in smoke?

The _Lion_ en route to Philadelphia, Max passed the first three days of their journey in a sort of trance. None of the crew appeared to expect her to pull her weight, whether on deck or in the galley, so she did not offer — her presence likely offensive enough to most that inserting herself into their daily duties would only serve to aggravate tensions. She took her meals with Idelle or alone; the two of them would settle into an amiable silence, Idelle bringing both structure and serenity to the voyage that Max truly did not know what she would have done without. Otherwise, she drifted, listless, finding herself wasting time in the shade below deck, or with a bottle in her own quarters. When plans were discussed that required her involvement, she participated; the most she suffered for it were harsh glares. Max was not afraid of retaliations from the men still harboring resentment towards her; eventually, her transgressions in their eyes would be forgiven, or at the very least forgotten. After all — she was under their captain’s protection.

Although Jack seemed to want little, if anything, to do with her. She could not blame him, she told herself repeatedly; although she bit her tongue rather than tell him so. But that did not ease the pain in her chest when he averted his gaze, scowling, upon sighting her across the deck. He did not ignore her outright — Jack Rackham was nothing if not a tactical captain, and he knew as well as she that their cooperation would be essential had they any chance of garnering favor with Eleanor’s grandfather. Still, it was abundantly clear that the sight of Max aboard his ship was not a kind one.

She did not believe he hated her. She had known he would be angry — she had thought it unlikely their paths would ever cross again, she remembered telling herself, but should they cross, she had been prepared for his ire. Max knew what hatred looked like reflected in another’s eyes because of how it burned in her own. Jack was bitter, he was hurt, he was furious, in turn. His actions, however, spoke for him: he _had_ been her salvation, had allowed her to take to the water as Nassau burned behind them, and he had advocated for her — a traitor to the cause — against the will of his fellow pirates. And more than that— there was a warmth in his eyes, beneath the snide reprisals and outward contempt, that Max knew only too well, that affirmed a grudging fondness, if not forgiveness, for a woman he used to know.

She could not say the same for Anne.

Staying away from her felt like the hardest thing Max had ever done. The sight of her— alone in her hammock bed, closed off and burning with cold, righteous fury. When she told Max to get out, the words had stung. Max thought back to another time Anne had shut out the world, folding in on herself in cavernous darkness, Charlotte’s blood drying on the floorboards as Max scrambled for a way to make it right. When Max put a hand out for her, Anne had taken it. She had trusted Max when she could trust no one. And now...

Max sat beside the door of her cabin, now. She preferred sitting to pacing, especially with the ship rocking beneath her feet. A stack of crates had been tucked against the wall, and Max found herself seated on one, tracing the grain of the wood as she contemplated, today as she had every day since setting sail, how to try to speak to Anne again.

_I want to take care of you._

The words reverberated through Max like a pounding headache. Anne had turned from her then, an image seared into Max’s mind, even behind closed eyes. Would she ever again entrust Max with her sorrow? How could she possibly, if she would not look her in the eye?

_Anne quivered beneath her, digging into Max’s shoulders with blunt nails as she clung to her. Her knife lay discarded on the floor. Max pressed open mouthed kisses down the length of her neck, pleased with the way Anne lifted her chin with a gasp, inviting Max to revel in the softness of her throat._

_“Shh,” Max murmured against her jaw, as Anne sounded a high pitched noise more akin to a whimper than anything else. Her grip on Max had tightened to the point of pain. Max quieted her with slower, gentler kisses, drinking in Anne’s desperation with a soothing calm._

_They settled into a steadier rhythm, Max fully aware of the way Anne’s lips chased hers every time she broke for breath. Her hold on Max’s shoulders had relaxed, but her body writhed under Max’s like a creature starved._ How must it feel _, thought Max,_ to want something for so long that you are unable to name?

_“Let me,” Max said finally, snaking a hand to Anne’s belt and letting her fingers linger there, offering. Anne swore under her breath, tearing her hands at Max’s skirt in an attempt to do the same. Max stilled her hand._

_Anne looked up at her, wide eyed. “Shit—why,” she breathed._

_“Let me,” Max repeated. “I want to take care of you.”_

Max squeezed her eyes shut, a grimace. Anne’s wrath felt like grief, like an emptiness in her chest. Now more than ever, she could not smother these aching memories, no matter how she tried to ward them off. It was as though she had memorized her first night with Anne beat by beat, minute by minute; as though she could not forget those moments, could never assuage their sting, on account of just how well she had learned them by heart.

The telltale creak of approaching footfalls drew her gaze up.

“There you are. Been searching the whole goddamn ship for you.” Jack towered over her, as always. He never quite fit below deck — she noticed as he slouched his shoulders, ducking his head below rafters as he approached.

Max met his eyes. “I am surprised this was not the first place you looked.”

“Yes, well. Featherstone would have a word with you, I believe he’s having trouble with the ledger, tabulating profits or something or other, I haven’t taken a look yet. I’d sooner have all our finances in order before we make port, save us a load of trouble if Guthrie _is_ to engage us.”

“I agree. I will speak with him.” Then, when Jack did not move to leave— “Is there something else?”

Jack shifted in place, his frown a hard line across his face. “You’re outside her door,” he muttered.

“Yes. I am.”

“You haven’t gone in?”

“I have not.”

He gave a brusque nod. “Good. She doesn’t want to see you.”

Max sighed, exhausted. “Yes, of that I am painfully aware. Anne has made her wishes clear to me. You asked me to help Featherstone with the accounts, which I will do. If there is nothing else you wish to say, I ask that you—”

“Now I hardly see why—” Jack furrowed his brow in frustration. “A simple _yes, Jack_ would do. If she did indeed make her wishes so clear to you, how does it figure that you continue to sit here pestering her — or, so sorry, biding your time until the perfect moment to resume pestering her.” 

Max glared at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he snapped. “Of course she is angry, you mean to tell me you expected otherwise?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then would you like to tell me what exactly you’re planning, here?”

Max tried to remind herself how disarming it must be for Jack, to see his unfailingly strong partner reduced to such a fragile state. She exhaled, shakily, before speaking. “I understand that you are trying to protect her. Please know that I know this. As I said, I have not been back in to see Anne. Last time, she— asked me to leave, I believe, before she let herself listen to the words I told her. I am not planning anything, I am simply— I would like to help her, if she will let me. I would like her to know that I have not gone anywhere.”

“Don’t you think, aren’t you even the slightest bit concerned, that seeing you, even knowing you sit just outside her door, might possibly hinder her recovery?”

She stared. Jack blinked back, hard, and Max watched the outrage drain from his eyes as he gave an incredulous laugh. “It’s absurd. We could be mere days from making port. I need— she just has to grin and bear it, until I can bring her a competent surgeon, and she—” Faltering over his own words for once, dispirited, his face fell.

“Max.” Her name on his lips was a rare treasure. “I almost lost her.”

“Max,” he said again. “You broke her heart.”

_Anne was a quick study. This was the first coherent thought that occurred to Max, coming down from the ringing haze of_ sa petite mort _. Dizzied, sated, she raised her head to marvel at Anne, kneeling between her thighs, smiling hesitantly._

_“Come here,” Max murmured, hoarsely, and Anne obliged. She shuffled up the bed and kissed Max, deep. Her skin was cool to the touch, Max realized as she cupped Anne’s cheek. More and more, Max wanted her hands on all of it, all at once._

_The third member of their party was uncharacteristically silent. She had near forgotten his presence, and might have, had it not been for the rustle of sheets as he shifted, slightly, that drew her attention._

_Anne seemed to notice, as well. She gave Max a final kiss, and that handsome smile, and pulled Jack to her._

_While not entirely enticed by the prospect, Max could not deny that she had been — curious — to see what sort Jack Rackham would be in bed. How her gawky, brazen, oft-disheveled business partner would conduct himself. Her answer? She had yet to find out. Jack had barely so much as looked her way the entire night._

_Max presumed his avoidance of her to be intentional, and likely born out of the same reluctance that had kept her from bridging the gap between them herself. Max had welcomed Jack into their bed at Anne’s invitation, because Anne had wished it so; he had no doubt accepted for similar reasons, and Max was confident that he had no more desire for her than she had for him. (For Anne, though? Max suspected that to call Jack’s feelings for his partner “desire” would also not be altogether accurate.) Regardless, Anne had invited, and they had accepted. So here they were._

_They had laid Anne bare, together, the two of them. Her cheeks burning hot as she pressed her face into Max’s neck, rocking against her, Jack’s spindly arm twined around her waist. At times, their unavoidable proximity had caused Max to brush Jack’s skin — she felt his leg tangle with hers, once, when he surely must have mistaken her for Anne. It was, clumsy, to say the least._

_Jack had averted his eyes, after, as Anne made cautious love to Max — out of politeness or discomfort, Max could not say. Now, Anne was settling herself in the crook of his arm, her head falling to rest on his bare chest. He adjusted easily as she fit against him, sliding his arm around her shoulders. The gesture so natural to them._

_Max was not a jealous woman. She wanted things, many great things for herself, but never insomuch as coveting what belonged to another. As she studied Jack and Anne from the pillow beside them, as she watched his fingertips scratch her shoulder, comforting, and heard her whisper low against his chest — unintelligible, from Max’s position — as she witnessed this moment of intimacy between these two wild people whom she had, until so very recently, considered strangers, Max had no envy in her heart._

They had been strange together, the three of them. Max admitted this. But sometimes, they had been soft together as well, gentle with each other as they navigated storms of affronts, of delicate revelations. They had traveled a long road together, and apart. Impossible decisions and inevitable heartbreaks and hundreds of miles had driven wedges between them. Max herself had driven those wedges, in the end, or at the very least, had landed the final blow. 

All this and more, she thought, as she held Jack’s eyes and willed his expression to soften, to respond to the warmth in her own. And, well, getting what she wanted had never been an obstacle for Max. 

“Just,” Jack sighed. “Do us all a favor and don’t make this harder than it already is. Allow Anne her space, let her, I don’t know, focus on healing without having to wonder if some sorry little head is going to poke through her doorway every half hour, demanding she acknowledge its existence.” (Not exactly kind words, but she knew he spoke them in kindness. Such was Jack.) “You know she is well cared for here. And besides, if—” he stopped, shook his head and scoffed. “Yes, well. It’s best. For both of your sakes.”

Max’s gaze was unbroken. “If?”

“Nothing.”

Max nodded, watched as Jack turned to go, the ship groaning beneath his feet. He was solid, the way he swayed with the tides without losing his footing, catching himself before he would stumble: despite his gangliness, he had sea legs like no other, and hesitated on them. If he was truly finished, he would have been gone by now.

A pause. His back to Max, Jack exhaled, resigned. Drawing a response out of him had always been an exercise in patience, Max recalled. So she waited, and eventually, he spoke.

“She forgave me. Chose my crew over her, abandoned her, and she was ruined over it. _You_ know, you were…” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, over and over. “What I mean to say is, and do not hold me to this because it is by no means a promise, and if I were you, I wouldn’t be holding out hope for much, but.” (Max understood, then, and steeled her resolve.) “But you let her be, on her own terms, and I’d wager Anne has a little more forgiveness left in her, wouldn’t you?”

And he turned to meet Max’s gaze, and he rolled his eyes, and she felt it deep in her chest. And then he left her.

***

_“Nature calls. Excuse me, darling,” Jack said, muffled, into the top of Anne’s head, planting a kiss there before disentangling himself from her embrace and slipping out of bed. His eyes flicked to Max’s — briefly, bemused — as he pulled on his trousers, smoothed back his hair, and stole out the door._

_In the stillness that settled after he had gone, Max studied the back of Anne’s head, that brilliant red hair fanning across the bedclothes. She listened to the wind as it whispered through her open window, and to the sounds of the town. A woman’s raucous laughter, the tinkle of broken glass, a song, if she strained to hear it. Late into the night, Nassau remained clamorous and lawless, awake and breathing life around her._

_Max listened to these signs of life and watched the rise and fall of Anne’s shoulders as she breathed, and all the while, Anne was silent. Max thought she might have drifted off. Then, when Max least expected it, she spoke._

_“You still there, then?”_

_A smile flitted across Max’s face. She sidled up behind Anne, looped an arm around her as she tucked her forehead into the nape of Anne’s neck. Anne’s hand found hers, intertwining their fingers as she pressed comfortably back against Max’s steady presence._

_“Yes, love.” A kiss, behind her ear._

_Anne’s free hand stroked faintly, abstractedly across Max’s forearm, a repetitive motion._

_Max gave her a few minutes, the option to speak first. When Anne did not take it, Max began. “How are you feeling?”_

_Anne offered a noncommittal noise, by way of response._

_“I understand that this is,” Max deliberated on her words. “Complicated, not the least for you. Is this — Jack and I — this is what you want?”_

_Although, Max sensed the truthful answer to her question, and knew it would more likely stall on Anne’s lips than find itself spoken._

_Anne grunted, a low laugh. “I dunno,” she said. Max could not see her face, but she studied the tremor of her voice, the tension in her hand that still skated across Max’s arm._

_Max kissed the back of her neck again, chastely._ Whatever you need right now, anything you need, anything at all _, in words unspoken._

_They lay together, wrapped in an easy embrace, the minutes passing in peaceable silence. The sweat had cooled significantly on Max’s brow when Anne turned to face her, twisting in her arms without allowing Max to let go of her._

_“D’you reckon he’s gone for the night?”_

_Max thought for a moment, then ventured, slowly— “Is that something he would do?”_

_Anne gave her a wry smile; a knowing look. “I don’t even think,” she said, finger tracing a pattern on Max’s shoulder absentmindedly. “That he got off.”_

_Max held her gaze, waiting for more._ No, he certainly didn’t _, she thought._ No, and how do you feel, now that he is gone? Did you feel safer, with him here? (Do you feel safe with me?)

_That, in the end, was all Anne wanted to say about that. She kissed Max though, a final word on it, slow and earnest. Her lips (and teeth, and tongue) setting alight Max’s own, drawing her in. There would be occasion for questions, and for answers. Max believed that, in time, Anne would offer them freely._

_Their kisses slowed, then stopped, and soon Max realized Anne’s breathing had so evened out that she could not still be awake. Her eyes had simply fallen closed, and Max had failed to notice. So wrapped up in the closeness of her, the ease of her. Max’s arm was still trapped under Anne, a dull discomfort as Anne slept on her, but forgotten easily enough considering that Anne was currently unguarded enough, trusting enough to drift off in her midst. She never had before. Max suspected she had Jack to thank for this gift, and silently gave her appreciation — and he was likely alone, at this moment, in the bed he and Anne used to share._

_She watched Anne sleep. Rugged Anne Bonny, quiet in her severe beauty that Max had so helplessly grown to love. Max longed to be as steady, as reliable a force in Anne’s life as her Jack Rackham. Not to replace him, never that; but Max could intuit the sort of loyalty Anne was capable of. Yes, this fledgling thing between them was so new — but Max had her sights on Anne’s complete trust, and believed she could give her true friendship in return. Even apart from affection, desire, everything that drew her to Anne, that had from the moment their paths had crossed on the beach; more than anything, Max wanted an ally in her. That should be simpler, than following her heart, should it not?_

Simpler. She had been foolish to think so, and cruel to let Anne believe she could have faith in Max in return. Jack was right. For the moment, at least, Anne was in better hands without her.

Max closed her eyes, breathed deep, and waited for Philadelphia.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "home" by vanessa carlton


End file.
